


money where your mouth is

by wae



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Drama, Happy Ending, Internal Conflict, Introspection, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Rating May Change, Romance, affluenza, ennui, frank ocean - super rich kids.mp3, rich au, taeil is a manic pixie dream boy?, this is so pretentious, yuil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24522511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wae/pseuds/wae
Summary: The only thing Yuta has in common with Taeil is their shared status as young multimillionaires. But with his influence, Yuta slowly learns to rip away from the high-end price tags and the silver spoon that's been choking him his whole life.
Relationships: Moon Taeil/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	money where your mouth is

**Author's Note:**

> today, the brightest moon of them all was born. i only know how to show my love for him through writing, so here's my humble contribution to the yuil drought. (disclaimer that the 95 line doesn't call taeil 'hyung' in this fic because ~dynamics~)
> 
> with all that out of the way, i hope you enjoy reading this 💗

Yuta trudges over to the kitchen, his skull pounding heavily and mouth still tasting of lime soda and margaritas. He all but lurches forward onto the sink, twisting the faucet and drinking straight from the tap. He rummages blindly at the cupboards, procuring a small bottle of painkillers. Yuta swallows a few tablets dry, and the bile threatens to rise up his throat.

An old pop song blares somewhere from the living room, and Yuta groans as his headache worsens with each beat. Picking up his phone from the coffee table, Yuta answers the call, finally silencing the atrocious ringtone.

"Hey, Na Yuta. You good?" The caller’s voice reverberates in his eardrums, and Yuta sits down as he clutches his aching head.  _ It’s way too early to be this loud. _

"Fuck off, Youngho,” he replies. “Whatever this is, I don't have time for it right now."

“Man, that was some party, huh? We really went all out on that one.”

Seo Youngho. A natural pro at dabbling in investments. The current youngest Wall Street trader, and now, he’s swiftly taking over South Korea’s financial district too. Some might call him Yuta’s partner-in-crime with how they used to pick up foreign chicks together, but that’s old news, and Yuta considers himself a changed man now.

Although, old habits die hard.

“That party was a bust, I’m never listening to you ever again.” Yuta scoffed. His memories of last night consisted of lipstick stains and vomit on the collar of his Fendi shirt. “So, why are you calling me? You didn’t call just to talk about that, right?”

Youngho made a sound of acknowledgment on the other line. “Perceptive as ever, my friend. The truth is, I’ve met someone new the other day, and I’d like to introduce him to everyone. What do you say?”

It’s not the first time that Youngho has brought other people into their little circle of spoiled trust fund kids. Sometimes it works out, and sometimes it doesn’t, but the fact that Youngho took the time to ask his opinion has Yuta genuinely curious.

“Well, what’s he like?”

“He’s…” Youngho trails off, chuckling. “I think you’ll find him to be quite interesting.”

These days, no one is really classified as interesting to them anymore. That label of being worthy of their attention has become so rare to come by that Yuta has lost all his enthusiasm to meet up with new people.

“Anyway,” Youngho continued. “You’ll be meeting him whether you like it or not. I’ve already invited him to my mother’s art exhibition this Sunday, so do me a favor and bring your manners to the table.”

Yuta chooses to ignore that little quip tacked on at the end, and instead asks, “Where the hell did you even meet this guy?”

“Connections,” Youngho laughs. “That’s all I can say.”

Yuta raises his brow.  _ Definitely not suspicious. _

Truthfully, Yuta had no plans this week other than to lounge around and binge-watch some anime on his 90-inch flat-screen HDTV. He’s only going out today because Youngho is awfully persuasive, and Yuta, having nothing to do, agreed out of boredom.

A ruby red F-Type Jaguar sits imposingly in the middle of his garage among other equally grandiose cars. Yuta’s dressed smartly for the occasion, like something out of a GQ spread; a chic navy blue two-piece suit complete with a matching bowtie. He slides in the plush leather cushions of the driver’s seat, and with that, he’s off to the road, darting through the freeway without any regard for the speed limit.

The museum is overflowing with people by the time he gets there. He sees Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Doyoung a couple of distances away. They’re impossible to miss, what with their overwhelming aura and the group of ladies gathered around them. Just then, Youngho spots Yuta, navigating through the guests that hastily make way for him. The sight makes Yuta snort. He’s like fucking Moses parting the Red Sea down by the middle.

“You made it!” Youngho greets, patting him heartily on the back. “I was so sure you would ditch me after all those excuses you made up.”

Yuta pulls a face. “Don’t be silly. This is auntie’s newly-launched project we’re talking about here. Speaking of which, where is she? I want to send her my regards.”

“No need, man. Mom’s being swarmed by some art critics right now. I’m her damn son and I can’t even get through them. Seriously, the nerve of these people.”

It makes sense, Yuta thinks. Youngho’s mother is a highly-acclaimed media director, of course, those avant-gardists wouldn’t leave her be. “Tell me about it,” he says, shaking his head. “This place is more stuffed than Jaehyun’s ass during that last orgy he set up.”

“Oh, god. Don’t remind me.” Youngho laughs, and then he snaps his fingers, a flash of recognition settling in his features. “Ah, I almost forgot! You haven’t met Taeil yet.”

Just when Yuta was about to reply, a bumbling mess of teenage hormones comes running over to their direction and tramples over his leather-clad foot.

Those two and a half years of meditation and anger management classes definitely did not work out well for him, because all Yuta can feel is his blood pressure rising as he calls out the perpetrator. “Lee Donghyuck…”

Another boy whizzes past them in a hurry, and that’s when Youngho, in a fit of rage, finally scolds the two. "Hey, punks, did I say you could play tag in here?! I swear to god if you break any of those marble statues—"

Donghyuck and Mark's families are on good terms with Johnny's parents, so he's been acting as a babysitter for the two of them for as long as he can remember. And he still is to this day, as if he doesn't have entire corporations to run with his bare hands.

“Catch us if you can!” Donghyuck stops for a moment to jeer at them before he takes off running after Mark. Yuta thanks the heavens he was nothing like that when he was seventeen.  _ He was much worse of a problem child than that. _

“Dammit,” Youngho muttered under his breath. Then, turning to Yuta with a forced smile, he says, “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind if I leave you for now. I’ve got to get those two under control.”

“No worries.” Yuta offers him a forced smile of his own because Lord knows there’ll be hell if anyone lets Donghyuck and Mark run wild like untamed animals in this very professional environment.

He watches as Youngho speed-walked to the antique sculpture collection where the two have disappeared to.  _ Well. _ It looks like he’s on his own now.

Yuta’s not much of a patron for the modern arts, although he’s seen enough contemporary installations to pretend like he appreciates them. He strolls lazily along the exhibit, fortunately not attracting any unwanted attention. He’s had enough conversations with social climbers to last him an entire lifetime.

A large abstract painting is displayed in the center of the museum, and Yuta stops in front of it just to act like he admires the artisanship poured into it.  _ This is boring as fuck,  _ Yuta thought. His stay hasn’t even lasted an hour yet and he already wants to go home.

In his peripheral, he can see a stranger inspecting him with mild, barely-contained curiosity, as if Yuta was some kind of pièce de résistance. It’s oppressive, to say the least.

"Can I help you?" Yuta asked, turning to face the stranger while wearing a tight-lipped smile.

"No, I'm sorry. I was just thinking, it must get very noisy inside your head sometimes."

A quick full-body scan of the man doesn't give him anything much to go by. 5"8. Around the same age as him, maybe? Tailor-made blazer retailing at a hundred thousand dollars. The latest model of a silver Piguet wristwatch. Yuta doesn’t know what to make of this man. Pretty eyes, though. They’re a deep brown that feels like you could fall into them if you stared for long enough.

Still. Who the hell does he think he is? Yuta furrows his eyebrows. "Excuse me?

"Your thoughts," he laughs, "they're too loud. I can practically hear them from here."

But he can't help but think there's more than meets the eye to this person. He feels so familiar but so inexplicable, like a forgotten dream that has slipped away just on the edge of your waking hours. Yuta shook his head. "Have we met each other before?"

"You're Nakamoto Yuta, right? A friend of Youngho's?"

This might be the first time he's been regarded as something other than a world-class entrepreneur. Rather, he's been diminished as nothing more than one of fucking Seo Youngho's cronies. But he supposes the sentiment isn't wrong in itself. He replies, "Why, yes, I am."

"Figured you would be. You look exactly as they described. This handsome, Japanese guy that's always brooding like the main protagonist of some drama."

The man just keeps on surprising him again and again.

Yuta didn't really peg himself to be the brooding type. If he had to give that title to someone, it'd have to be Taeyong. Yuta wasn't even aware he brooded publicly. He's pretty sure that he owns the most genuine fake smile out of everyone in this city.

This situation was becoming a bit ridiculous now, so in an attempt to steer it into normalcy, Yuta said, “And you are? I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.”

“My name is Moon Taeil. Don’t wear it out.”

Yuta blinked once, then twice. So, this little oddity right here was the one Youngho meant to introduce to them? He’s certainly right to call him ‘interesting’ but Yuta suspects there’s more than meets the eye to Taeil. He’s shrouded in mystery, and Yuta can’t possibly figure him out.

Taeil verges upon his space with the agility of a stray cat. He slips an unknown object into Yuta’s suit pocket as he stands there, speechless and unmoving.

"Here's my card. Let's meet again sometime."

Dazedly. Yuta fishes out the card from his pocket to read its contents. Taeil is gone when Yuta looks up again, evaporating into thin air.

Huh.

The words printed in embossed font carve themselves into his mind, and Yuta suddenly gets why Youngho was networking with him in the first place.

_ Moon Taeil _

_ Chief Operating Officer _

_ Choseungdal Music Group, Inc. _

One thing that's ever-present in a chaebol's life is parties. Parties, parties, and more parties. Those fancy, professional ones they show up to just for the sake of appearances. Events that are held for the purpose of the greater good. And most of all, the trashy kind that only happens in exclusive clubs where they thrive off on drunken escapades; strippers, cocktails, and hallucinogens. 

Yuta's nose turned up in distaste as he passed a group of girls inhaling white lines. He can't stress how much he hates illegal substance abuse. A few years back, when Yuta was incredibly young and stupid, he engaged in those same kinds of activities, but let's just say one lucky trip to the hospital later made him learn his lesson.

The club is always crowded on a weekend, but that doesn’t deter his friends from meeting up for another night filled with hedonism.  _ It never does. _ Everything is smoky and filled with neon hues, and Yuta can just barely make out the outline of five men congregating around a curved, black leather sofa.

“Hey!” Taeyong ushered him over to their table, raising one arm in the air. “Took ya long enough to get here.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Yuta half-heartedly apologized. “I have a life, you know. Unlike everyone else in this table.”

At that, Taeyong snorted. “As if you have anything better to do. We’re all in the same boat here.”

“Rude,” Taeil remarked as he elbowed Taeyong, and Yuta’s eyes darted over to where he’s seated on the far right end of the sofa. He didn’t think he’d be here tonight considering his friends always leave out certain details when they send him texts, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Well, hello to you, too,” Yuta said, sitting himself down on the narrow space next to Taeil. 

“Hey, yourself.”

Youngho winked from across the table, watching their exchange. Yuta only rolled his eyes and motioned for the bottle of rosé which was then handed to him, but not without another cheeky look his way.  _ Ignorance is bliss, _ was the mantra that Yuta repeatedly chanted inside his head.

“So, your father—” he started, but Taeil interrupted him as soon as he saw what was coming.

“—is one of the richest men in this country, yes. You did your research, huh?”

“A little bit.” Yuta shook his head and quietly said, “But still… Who would’ve thought.”

Surprisingly, Taeil took it in stride and only laughed at that. “Indeed. I try not to associate with his status too much.”

“Ah, no, I didn’t mean it that way,” Yuta quickly followed up, not wanting his words to be taken as condescension. “I just didn’t think you were the partying type, is all.”

“Tell that to my university friends,” Taeil grinned. “I’m sure they’d beg to disagree.”

“Your father must be very proud of that fact,” Yuta said in an attempt of a witty remark. It wasn’t that funny, but Taeil laughed and gave him a light shove on the shoulder anyway.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. “It’s always all business with him. Honestly, I didn’t want to go down the same road as him, but here I am,  _ C-E-fucking-O. _ Quite ironic, really.”

“Ah.” Yuta nodded in understanding. “Trying to build up a reputation of your own, I assume? Trust me, I get it. I know the feeling.”

Sighing, Taeil raised his glass and clinked it against Yuta’s. The fizzy pink liquid sloshes from the impact. “To daddy issues,” he toasted.

Raising his eyebrows in amusement, Yuta couldn’t help but to return the sentiment. 

“Yeah. To daddy issues.”

At around midnight, the club had started filling up even more. The slightly tolerable house music was soon replaced with some lowbrow hip-hop with vulgar lyrics and thumping bass beats. Another addition was the exotic-looking guy grinding up and down a pole, which was mostly Jaehyun’s fault. 

“Anyone wanna bring a dancer in?” he had asked the group, who wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this shit.

And like the goody two-shoes that he is, Doyoung replied, “Nah, I’m taking it easy tonight.”

But Jaehyun waved his black AmEx credit card while announcing, “I’ll pay for it,” and Doyoung’s façade dropped full-speed like a bomb.

Faster than a flash of lightning, he answered, “Deal.”

By the time that the socialites have fully invaded the entirety of the dance floor, half of their group are already hammered and the other half is just teetering over the edge of sobriety. Yuta’s quite certain that Taeyong has fallen asleep with his head on the tabletop and Doyoung is regretting his lifestyle choices right now. As for the other one— 

“Fuck.” Taeil’s fingers were buried in his own hair, gripping it tightly to cease the imagined spinning of the room around him. “I should probably go now, I forgot that I had a meeting at nine.”

Yuta did a double-take, spotting Youngho who’s seemingly making it rain on the dancer’s ass, then turning back to Taeil. “Why did you even come tonight if you had to get up early?”

Taeil frowned as he pulled out his phone and the blue light harshly flooded his eyes. He looked to be in the process of sending a text, fumbling with uncoordinated fingers and a hazy vision. “To see you, probably.” 

The hairs on the back of Yuta’s neck stood on their ends.

“You know, you’ve been weird ever since our first meeting.”

“I’ve always been weird.”

Taeil’s phone buzzed insistently in his hand and he groaned as he stood up, shaky on his feet. “My driver will be here soon,” he slurred, “I hafta go.”

_ This guy was so drunk out of his mind. _

“Hey,” Yuta warned, catching Taeil by the arm just in time before he bumps into a server walking past with a tray full of drinks. “Careful there.”

“Ugh.” Taeil wobbled as he curled warm fingers around Yuta’s elbow. “Walk me to the curb before I get you all kicked out of here for puking on the floor.”

“Fuck. Are you for real?” It was Yuta’s turn to curse now, quickly leading Taeil to the exit before things took a turn for worse.

“No, god,” Taeil scoffed. “I’ve never done that.” And inwardly, Yuta thought,  _ ‘Thank fuck, because I’m not about to be held liable for your mess.’  _ They reached the sidewalk without much fanfare, the sounds of the nightlife slowly fading out behind them. A white Ferrari Italia pulls up in front of the club and Taeil carefully extricates himself from Yuta’s arm.

“That’s my ride,” he announces. The chauffeur isn’t an older, distinguished gentleman like Yuta would have imagined. Instead, it’s a prim and proper man that looks even younger than them, although the stern look on his face gives off the illusion of adding two years to his actual age.

“Kun! My savior—” Taeil threw his arms around the chauffeur once he exited the car to open the passenger door. This so-called Kun doesn’t seem too thrilled about the situation, grumbling out, “Good grief. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Yuta lingered awkwardly in the scene, wondering if this might be his cue to leave, but Kun stops him in his tracks. “Excuse me,” he said. “Did Mr. Moon perhaps cause any trouble?”

“No?” Bewildered, Yuta slowly took a step back. “No, not at all.”

“I see,” Kun answered, an inebriated Taeil still leaning against his shoulder. “Thank you for keeping an eye on him. Well then, we shall take our leave now.” Yuta nodded, and Kun, satisfied with this, dutily escorted Taeil into the passenger’s seat before sliding into the driver’s seat.

The convertible’s engine purred before ultimately roaring to life, speeding through the night as Yuta was left wondering what the hell just happened.

What kind of person exactly is Moon Taeil—  _ and why the fuck does Yuta feel so badly intrigued by his whole being? _

When Yuta walks back into the club, the place is filled to capacity, the dancer that was on their table is gone, and his friends all look like the definition of shit. 

“Buddy,” Youngho groaned trying to rub off the very obvious patch of glitter on his cheek. Yuta doesn’t want to know how he got that. “Where have you been?”

“Walked your friend outside. His driver came to pick him up.”

“Taeil-hyung went home already?” Jaehyun asked. Several buttons on his shirt are undone, revealing a reddened chest, and again, Yuta doesn’t want to know.

“Yep. Taeil went home already.”

Doyoung grumbled, “Nice going, Yuta-hyung. You left me here to watch while Dumb and Dumber got freaky with a stripper and Lee Taeyong drooled all over my nice shirt.”

Well, there goes Yuta’s innocence. His friends were such deviants under the influence of alcohol. Maybe a change of pace would help them sober up a bit, so he said, "Fuck this. You guys wanna go up to the second-floor lounge?"

Youngho slung a heavy arm over Yuta’s shoulder. “Why, I thought you’d never ask.”

The second floor is members only, reserved for only the cream of the crop, the top 0.1%, the VVIPs. Some look on with envy, perhaps laced by the faintest hint of scheming, but they continue on, expensive shoes clattering against a spiral glass staircase illuminated in lights of every color.

Taeyong and Doyoung have considerably sobered up after getting some air, now chatting amongst themselves. About what, who knows, but knowing them, it’s probably nothing but a bunch of emotional affairs. The drinks don’t stop, because that’s all they have. Youngho unscrews the bottle of Chardonnay, the cork flying off with a loud pop and spilling cream-colored foam all over the ground. Jaehyun leans against the mezzanine, gazing down the first floor with his champagne flute in hand and toasting to the masses below them à la Gatsby style.

They all have their own stories to tell, coming from different backgrounds and ways of life, but there’s something that brings their group together. Perhaps it’s this sense of camaraderie, that purpose of staying with each other to lick their wounds and grapple with the underlying fear of solitude.

Taeyong is a classic case of rags-to-riches, ascending to godlike status from composing rap songs in his basement. Doyoung comes from a family of actors, raking in millions per night just because girls find his face so irresistible. And Jaehyun… Jaehyun was born from old money. No one really knows what he does, maybe a little bit of everything, but he’s been living the good life from the start, still so optimistic despite all that wealth and pressure.

Regardless of all that, this is where Yuta belongs, in their own group of misfits with deep pockets and troubles of existentialism.

Youngho begins to make conversation, and that’s when Yuta knows he’s about to shoot his mouth off to no end. "You still with that model guy?"

The last time he even saw Sicheng in person was a month ago, so he concludes that no, they aren’t together anymore. A lot of people may think that their relationship was parasitic to a certain degree, but it’s not exactly that. It's that Sicheng just wasn't interested from the start and their relationship was more for the sake of keeping each other company on lonely nights. 

"We're both over it,” Yuta says. “Haven't met up with him for ages."

“Shame,” Jaehyun sighed. “I was quite fond of him, too.”

_ That makes two of us, _ Yuta thought bitterly, pouring more wine in his glass until it's spilling over the brim.

“What do you think of Taeil?” Youngho asked next, tapping his nails in a rhythmic manner against the tabletop.  _ Tick-tock, tick-tock,  _ it sounds like, and an uneasy feeling crawls up Yuta’s chest.  _ Cut that shit out,  _ he wants to say.

Instead, Yuta shrugs. "He's just another one of those nouveau riche types that mooch off their daddy's money."

"Maybe, but he's interesting." Youngho shrugged, taking a swig from his glass. "Yeah, his father owns one of the biggest record label distributors in the world. So what?"

“Plus, he’s kinda cute,” Jaehyun chimed in. Yuta glared daggers at him and he slinked back into the shadows, holding a hand up in surrender.

Turning back to Youngho, Yuta sighed and said, “Don’t tell me you’re going to use him as a scapegoat in case of a commercial downfall.”

“You’ve got no trust in me,” Youngho chuckled. That wasn’t true at all. Sometimes, Yuta just worried what Youngho’s spontaneity might bring him. He continued, “We didn’t meet in a business setting. Didn’t I tell you? Sehun, Chanyeol-hyung and I went to that symphony orchestra performance last month. I was sitting beside this guy, and get this— by the end of it, he was sobbing uncontrollably! When I asked him why, he just said he was ‘simply moved by how beautiful it was.’”

“And that was how you met Taeil?” Yuta raised an eyebrow. Youngho spoke so animatedly about the incident that he himself felt like he had witnessed it first-hand. He could definitely imagine Taeil bawling like that under the impact of classical music.

“That was how I met Taeil,” Youngho affirmed with a nod.

An amused smile involuntarily tugged at Yuta’s lips. “He is so fucking weird.”

He guzzled the rest of his white wine down. He supposes it wouldn’t hurt to give Taeil a chance.

The life of a millionaire isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.

The camera flashes are blinding even under Yuta’s orange-tinted sunglasses. As soon as he alights from the car, a flood of reporters swarm him, and the bodyguards on standby spring into action, forming a human barricade with their stocky bodies. Out here, the press only mobs a rich person if they're young and attractive, and Yuta fits that requisite down to a T.

A mėlange of raucous, persistent yelling reverberates in his skull like a broken record.

"Mr. Nakamoto, over here!"

"Are the rumors true?"

"We heard that Nakamoto Enterprises is going to be sold for 300 million won, can you confirm this?"

_ Not this shit again.  _ Yuta tries to walk as quickly as he can to the gates of his home. He knows nothing about the rumors, and even if they were true, he wouldn’t give a shit even if their company was being sold. It’s all entitled under his father’s name anyway and he wants no part in it.

Numbers have become everything in this new age of society. Nowadays, people care more about your net worth and how much you've invested in the stock market by the age of twenty-one more than they care about how miserable you are. To the public eye, he’s nothing more than a living exhibit of the upper-class specimen, one dimensional as they go, dumbed down for the masses.

The story of how Yuta came to Korea was quite simple, really. A bachelor flies to a foreign land looking for his purpose, for freedom, for an escape route from his unwanted constraints and obligations. Everyone from Japan knew that the Nakamoto clan had influence from all over the country, and so, to avoid carrying too much of the burden, he found himself on a one-way flight into this urban sprawl.

In the past, Yuta has been called a prince more times than he can remember. It's nothing compared to what he is now. He's built a kingdom that runs itself, from Osaka, all the way to Seoul. People admired him back then. Now, they look at him with this sense of submission that has Yuta's insides itching. Even now, it feels like a thousand stares are cutting him open, dissecting him bit by bit until there’s nothing left but an empty husk of his former self.

His affluence is both a blessing and a curse.

Yuta finally pushes through, still with the bodyguards surrounding him, nearly being crushed in the havoc. He rushes past the gates, the long cobblestone walkway leading to the front doors, his personal assistant hastily following after him. 

He locks himself into his bedroom, and everything skids to a halt.

It feels suffocating, nonetheless. 

_ Full. This entire place is full.  _

Before Yuta even knows it, he goes berserk. He tears off voile curtains from his windows, knocks down tables and chairs and dressers. Punches a wall, the dry plaster cracking with the force of his fist. The linen sheets are ripped out of his mattress as well. His fingernails ache, his limbs turn red from the blood rush. But he can barely feel anything. His head is a monster filled with wrath. Ruin it.  _ All of it.  _

He’s too far gone to stop now. His walk-in closet is the next to go. A sharp ringing resounds throughout Yuta’s cranium. The tears burn like fucking lava along his skin. Cotton. Polyester. Knitted fabrics. Every single one of it is torn in between his trembling fingers. The sound of the seams being undone doesn’t mask the deep, heaving sobs escaping his chest.

He catches sight of his reflection in the rows of full-length mirrors and thought,  _ those have to fucking break too.  _ The smash of the ceramic vase and glass is ear-splitting. Shards fly everywhere. The consequences of his actions would soon catch up to him after this, but Yuta doesn’t care. He screams, but not out loud.

_ Fuck the world, fuck, fuck, fuck—  _

Weak, volatile, exhausted. Yuta lays on the heap of designer clothes thrown to the ground, ruined beyond recognition. 

A single whimper fights its way out of his throat. Everything hurts. 

He never fucking asked for all of this.

“Seo Youngho. What do you want from me?”

Yuta’s voice is still scratchy and fucked-up a few days later. Needless to say, things didn't turn out well after the massive outrage he caused last time. The maids complained about the ridiculous mess they had to clean up to Jungwoo, Yuta’s personal assistant. And in turn, Jungwoo had the gall to notify Yuta’s father about this, who was literally a thousand kilometers away and too busy to handle his precious son’s infamous temper tantrums.

So, yes. Let’s just say that Yuta is basically on house arrest for now, because according to his father’s words, who knows how much more destruction he could cause once exposed to the outside world? Even Yuta’s mother is direly disappointed in him, but there’s nothing they can do to reverse the damage. 

They were all treating him like a criminal when in fact, Yuta was just a stupid, angry brat swept up in his emotions. He was in a significantly better mood now, but not everything is sunshine and rainbows. At least he has his friends. And speaking of friends— 

Youngho howled in laughter upon hearing Yuta’s wrecked voice. “What happened to you? You sound like you just gave the world’s worst blowjob.”

“Something's come up. Some… stuff happened,” Yuta said, cherry-picking his words. Jungwoo was watching him from the corner of his eye and he knows that just one wrong remark could lead to bigger repercussions. “Stuff that I can’t really explain through the phone.”

“Tell us in person, then,” Youngho replied, not sounding too bothered about it. "We're going out to play golf this weekend. Are you in?"

"Pass. I can't join you."

“And why is that?”

This was getting nowhere. Yuta spilled, not caring anymore that Jungwoo might tattle again. “I am a twenty-two year old man, Youngho,” he gritted out, “and I’m grounded by my fucking parents like this is middle school all over again because I—” 

Jungwoo snatched the phone from his hand and Yuta regrets even hiring the kid in the first place.

“Youngho-ssi?” Jungwoo said, smiling cheekily all the while as Yuta stared him down. “That is not true. Yuta-ssi is simply under protected surveillance. We staff are monitoring his behavior as per compliance to his father’s request.”

“Oh, cool,” Yuta overheard Youngho’s response. It’s impossible not to when his volume was always set to a hundred. “If he can’t go outside, then does that mean we can come over?”

There was still hope. Yuta gave Jungwoo his best puppy-dog eyes look, and the other sighed helplessly. “Fine. You may visit him, but please keep the ruckus to a minimum.”

“We’ll be good,” Youngho promised.

They were not even the least bit good.

One, two, three, four… five? Yes, five men, Taeil included, ambushed Yuta’s home in the middle of the afternoon demanding answers for what exactly he did that led up to this situation. It was definitely a bit surprising to see Taeil again in an intimate setting such as this, but he made a resolution. Try to accept him, at the very least.

Going back to the topic at hand— He wanted to tell the story without sugarcoating it, though, and to do that, he’d have to get Jungwoo out of the damn room first.

He forced a smile, hoping everyone would catch on. “Anyone want some drinks? Maybe some tea? Earl grey, oolong—” 

“I want a can of cola,” Taeil suggested, even though Yuta wasn’t quite sure why he was even here. A series of agreements rang around the room, and Yuta threw his hands up in the air.

“Alright, sure. Cola it is, then. Jungwoo, could you tell the maids to bring some refreshments?”

“With pleasure,” Jungwoo answered. Ironically, there wasn’t any indication of being pleased on his face. He exited the living room with a practiced poise despite his lanky stature. This is Yuta’s chance.

“So, do you really want to know what I’ve been up to?” A deep breath preceded his question, and his friends reflexively leant in, watching with rapt interest.

“That’s literally the only reason we came here,” Doyoung interjected.  _ This smart-ass. _

Yuta cleared his throat. “Let me start from the beginning—”

But of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Dude,” Youngho snorted, and maybe Taeyong mutters a small ‘ _ oh no.’  _ “What are you waiting for? This is the part where you sneak out before anyone catches you.”

Or, that. That could work too. Yuta was getting sick of this whole indoor arrangement, anyway.

“Tell ya what,” he said. “You’ve got a solid point there.”

The next thing Yuta knows is that the six of them are piled up in his trusty Jaguar. Youngho sits shotgun, because he always does, while Taeyong, Jaehyun, Taeil and Doyoung barely manage to fit themselves into the backseat. They’re speeding down a highway now, going over 120, and Yuta can’t help but think:  _ shit, he’s so screwed. _

But it’s all worth it. The rush is like no other, it’s priceless. At any rate, it’s better than whining and venting like a crybaby. Yuta had always preferred the more thrilling options in every circumstance.

“See?” Youngho yelled beside him, voice barely booming over the strong wind and the thunderous engine. “Isn’t this much more effective?”

“It sure fucking is!” Yuta yelled back and pressed on the accelerator, going into overdrive. His friends shrieked, their tones varying in emotions; some panicked, the others getting high off the exhilaration.

If you look at them as a whole, they’re the very picture that psychological studies talk about: youth from upper-class families who are more prone to destructive behavior, resorting to borderline villainy as an outlet to relieve their frustrations. But they’re young adults now, not quite teenagers anymore, however still warily tip-toeing the line between childishness and maturity.

Others may call it misconduct, but to Yuta, it’s a release.

It’s catharsis in its purest form.

A tunnel comes into view, which only prompts Yuta to run the red lights even more. The sirens of the police cars can be heard trailing behind them, lost in pursuit, but they're much faster. Yuta is a god on his ruby red four wheels, running on 500 horsepower. He's untouchable. Invincible.

_ He feels so fucking alive right now. _

“Look at Taeil-hyung,” Jaehyun laughed, tipping his head back as he does. “I can feel him shaking so bad.” He says that, but Doyoung is the same as him, nearly screeching his head off, the scaredy-cat. The wind harshly whips across their hair from the open roof, and Youngho takes a moment to twist in his seat and flash both of his middle fingers to their pursuers.

“You’re insane!” Taeil has to shout in order to be heard, holding onto his seat belt for dear life. The laughs grow louder this time, and Yuta lets out a chuckle too, because Taeil’s really not used to this, huh? Meanwhile, this is just another Friday night for the rest of them, unsurprising given the rebels that they are.

Yuta drifts, tires scraping across the asphalt. The smell of burning tar permeates the air, and Taeyong whistles at the stunt.

“That’s Nakamoto Yuta for ya. Always going the extra mile.”

The following day, Yuta earns an earful of sermons from his father through a phone call. 

He doesn’t regret a single thing.

Yuta experiences freedom a week later.

In his book, brunch meant smoked salmon and mimosas. Bagels and Belgian waffles. Brunch was overpriced and unsatisfying. Brunch wasn't supposed to taste like home.

But somehow, Yuta is sitting here, in the booth of a shabby Japanese diner with Taeil across from him. How did he even find this joint? No—  _ how did they even get into this situation in the first place? _

The simple answer would be that Taeil merely invited him out, that’s it, but what actually happened was a series of developments that led them to where they are right now. 

First, an unexpected call from Taeil. But everything is unexpected when it comes to him.

“Hey!” he chirped cheerily, and Yuta groaned in response. He hasn’t even rolled out of bed yet. “Are you maybe free today?”

“You’ve reached the number of a sleep-deprived individual, please call again later,” Yuta sarcastically answered as he reluctantly left the confines of his warm, comfy duvets. He shuffled to the bathroom to take a piss, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder while Taeil continued his spiel.

“Aw, come on. Please don’t be like this. I was supposed to get brunch with Youngho today but he suddenly had a business meeting to attend to.”

“And you thought of asking me?” Yuta incredulously asked as he finished his business. Why did it have to be him, of all people? He’s got too much going on right now, or so he thinks.

“I did try asking Taeyong, but he was in the studio recording. So I tried Doyoung instead, but he’s busy with work, too. And Jaehyun wouldn’t pick up at all.”

“So I was the last resort?!”

“Well, yes.”

Of course, he was. Yuta paced around his bedroom, almost tearing his hair out from the lack of resolution. Decisions, decisions. Would it do him any good to hang out with Taeil this time?

“Yuta,” Taeil pouted, and he gave in.  _ This cute fucker. _ Yuta’s always been weak for the charming ones.

_ Fuck it,  _ Yuta decided. He has enough time and money to spend.

If Yuta has to admit, the food was fucking fantastic. And the company wasn’t that bad, either.

“How was it today?” Taeil hummed, clicking his chopsticks together in time with his words.

“You’re unbelievable,” Yuta answered. “I can’t believe you made me pay for it all. And you ate a whole damn lot, too.”

Without warning, Taeil put a finger to Yuta’s lips, shushing him. “Small price to pay for a good time.”

_ Fair enough.  _

Yuta stared long and hard at the tiny finger pressed against his mouth. Contemplated for a moment. Unhinged his jaw to bite at it— but Taeil saw it coming and retracted his hand.

“Next time, you’ll foot the bill,” Yuta grumbled.

Taeil nodded, laughing at the failed attempt. “Alright, alright.”

“Na Yuta,” Doyoung whispered into the shell of his ear, “your smile is slipping.”

_ Keep your cool. Look pretty for the cameras. Put a happy face on.  _

These are three things Doyoung has mastered the art of, mostly due to his profession, but for someone like Yuta who would rather subject himself to torture than to play the part of holier-than-thou, events like this prove to be quite a difficult task. There are probably a hundred lenses aimed at them, photographing every move they take. As much as Yuta was a show-off, he actually hated red carpets. But it had to be done. If you don’t make appearances these days, you’ll get nowhere far in life.

Suddenly, Doyoung took Yuta’s jaw in his hand and slightly turned it to the left. “Look who it is,” he said.

Him. Coiffured hair. A tasteful charmeuse blazer. A smudge of smoky kohl along the corner of his lids.

_ Deep brown eyes. _

Yuta knows because he’s seen it before, but without a doubt, Taeil really does clean up nicely.

It wasn’t unusual to spot several familiar faces here and there in publicity events. In fact, this was how most of their friendships started, but Yuta still crossed the few steps it took to approach Taeil. In lieu of a greeting, Yuta opted for quirking his brow and dryly remarking, “Funny seeing you here.”

“Is it, now?” Taeil’s eyes narrowed at him. Then began to grow amused, unable to hold the laughter in.

“No, not really.”

Taeil laughed once more, and from this distance, Yuta could clearly see the smile lines barely outlining his wide grin. Call it crazy, but he was transfixed by all those minutiae actions of his. From the way that Taeil shifted his stance, leaning his weight on one leg, the way he unconsciously fiddled with the piercing in his ear, to the way he adjusted the cuffs of his blazer. Yuta wanted to wrap a hand around his and just— 

“Taeil! C’mere, let’s get our pictures taken.”

_ So much for that. _

Youngho waved Taeil over with a large hand in the air, his tall form one that you can spot from even miles away. And of course,  _ of course.  _ Yuta knew he was going to be here, They were friends, they talked about this kind of stuff. Whenever Youngho had a newfound obsession, Yuta was always the first to notice. And likewise, Yuta spills his worries whenever it gets too much for him to handle.

But something gnawed at his insides, an ugly, repulsive feeling that disagreed with the rest of his sanity. Yuta experienced this a few times before. In preschool, when he refused to share his favorite toys with any of the other kids. At age 18, when not even his closest friends knew that he would drive his car to a cliffside just to get away from all the attention and pressure to succeed. Wanting to hide his ex-lovers from the rest of the world.

It was a feeling that Yuta knew all too well. He wanted to keep something for himself.

Taeil murmured a rushed apology, breaking Yuta away from his headspace. “Sorry,” he said, accompanied with a single pat to Yuta’s shoulder. “Duty calls. I’ll catch you later?”

“Yeah,” Yuta replied, and watched as Taeil walked off to where Youngho was. They posed for the photographers, with Youngho’s arm curled securely around Taeil’s waist. Yuta doesn’t like that one bit.

“Pick your chin up,” Doyoung reminded him, his hand steady around Yuta’s arm as if he’s trying to pacify a wounded animal. Yuta clawed at his palms. Bared his fangs.

_ It’s fine. Everything’s fine. _

Later that night, Yuta’s phone rang insistently just as he was getting ready for bed. Don’t get him wrong, he loves Tohoshinki, but he really should change his ringtone soon. Youngho’s name flashed in bright letters as the caller ID, and Yuta freezes momentarily, statuesque for a second before he takes a deep breath and picks up.

“Hello?”

“Doyoung told me you were upset about something.”

“Goodbye.”

Yuta’s index finger hovered over the end call button, but Youngho yelled before he could even get a move in. “Yah! Don’t hang up on me, you dipshit!”

“I’m not upset,” Yuta ultimately said. He couldn’t pussyfoot out of this conversation even if he wanted to, anyway. “I’m just…” He searched for the right words to say. There was none that came to mind. A sigh left his lips instead. “I don’t know, man. Life has been weird lately.”

“Hey, what’s wrong? Do you wanna talk about it?” In an instant, Youngho’s tone changed from mildly annoyed to concerned. No one wanted to mess with him, but when the situation called for it, he was one of the most reliable people around. He was someone who gladly offered his shoulder to lean on— both figuratively and literally.

Fluorescent lights from the hallway spilled into the gaps of Yuta’s half-opened bedroom door, forming blurry, indistinguishable splotches every time he blinked. His eyes were bleary for some reason, and it’s not from the drowsiness either. “That’s the problem,” he said. “I know  _ what  _ is bothering me but I don’t know  _ why.  _ The reason is out there, I just can’t pinpoint it.”

“No, come on, let’s figure this out,” Youngho urged him. “Retrace your steps. We’re not resting until we get to the bottom of this.”

Yuta bit his lip in quiet contemplation. Every person has a shell. For instance, on the outside, Yuta was a grown-up exposed to the brutal honesties of life. On the inside, however, he’s nothing but a lost boy.

The shell crumbles before his eyes.

He blurts out the answer before he can stop himself. “It’s Taeil.”

“Oh.” Youngho’s response is so helpless that Yuta begins to feel guilty for harboring ill intent towards him earlier. He knew nothing, and Yuta only had his own self to blame for that. He was never one to voice his troubles out loud. “So, do you, uh, dislike him?”

“No,” Yuta simply answered. On the contrary, really. But he had still yet to figure the specifics of it all.

“That’s… good, at least.” Right now, Youngho is just as confused as him. The deep breath he releases sends a bout of static over the line. “Should I sit this one out so you can handle it by yourself or do you need my almighty guidance? ‘Cause this sounds pretty serious.”

“It’s fine.” Staring up at the ceiling, Yuta breathed, “Let fate do its job.” A slightly out of character thought for him to voice out loud, since Yuta always took matters into his own hands and led himself to the path he wanted. Youngho softly chuckled on the other line, and maybe, just maybe, it held more meaning than he really let on.

“Fate, huh.”

Without even knowing it, Yuta’s world shifted solely because of this one person. It was a natural process, like tectonic plates realigning, and the only thing he could do was to wait and see what happens.

**Author's Note:**

> part 2 will be posted later today hopefully! do leave a comment if you can, i'd like to know your thoughts!  
> also, i just created a brand new [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/waeyoh) account, so feel free to send your questions there 🌙


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